A Hieroglyphic World
by Random Ravenclaw91
Summary: Times of war call for desperate measures. Optimus Malfoy thinks the only way to gain respect is to work for the Ministry of Magic, and Lydia Weasley faces her own share of problems, which all eventually come down to one question. Happiness, or society?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**_Title taken from my favourite quote from __Age of Innocence__ by Edith Wharton . Beta'ed by thpoet/Kate, Loveis4ever/Samarie, and solemnlyswearx/Melissa. Amazing plot bunny adopted from Sandy/Snape's Talon. Thanks so much to all of you!_

_Here's a bit of background. The year is 1775, and this takes place seven generations before Ginny Weasley (the next female Weasley) was born. Each fic in this trilogy will have to do with a different generation of Malfoys and Weasleys. Hopefully the rest will explain itself._

_This is my favourite fic that I've ever written, and I would really love feedback. A review would be greatly appreciated!_

**Chapter 1**

**In which a Malfoy attempts to gain respect.**

--

**Lydia**

I often didn't pay full attention to my cousin Edwina — in my eighteen years, I had figured out she rarely said anything of consequence — so when I heard, "… is standing outside," I was startled. Did she say Optimus Malfoy? But, no, of course not. So I turned quickly and felt some mixture of surprise and amusement to see Edwina nearly hanging out the window in an attempt to see. I asked her to repeat what she said, but all I could hear were muffled words.

Frustrated and curious, I prompted sharply, "Optimus Malfoy, did you say? Here? At this house?"

But she just leaned out farther, and I wondered if this were because he moved closer to the house. I stood pouting another moment longer, tired of being left out of whatever it was Edwina knew, but those petty thoughts flew from my mind as I watched Edwina begin to slip. I grabbed her white chemise and heaved her back inside.

"Must you always do such things?" I snapped. "You're in nothing but your chemise! Your stays aren't even tightened!"

But Edwina was, as always, completely unruffled. "Can you even imagine?" she said, her voice breathlessly fast. "There's a _Malfoy_ here! At your house! It must be true, what they're all saying…"

I wondered if it were really worth it to listen to the gossip Edwina was wont to say. But Optimus Malfoy was a fascinating subject, so, in spite of myself, I began to listen to my cousin again, who never noticed my concentration wavering even for a moment.

"If he's really trying to join the Ministry with Uncle Richard, well, I hope he knows it's never going to happen. It's absolutely…" Edwina looked frustrated, and her bottom lip came out. She snapped her fingers in a gesture of impatience.

She had forgotten a word, I knew. "Scandalous?" I suggested.

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "Precisely! It's scandalous, that's what it is. The Malfoy family has only been here two generations, and I find it revolting for Mr. Malfoy to try and take advantage of the troubled times in the Ministry by bothering Uncle Richard."

"Troubled? Because of the war with the colonies?"

"Yes, of course," she said breathlessly. "And not only that, but because, well, Optimus Malfoy should most certainly know he would never be welcome in the Ministry. With that money of his being so… _new_ — why, it's revolting!"

"We don't even know how he made his money!" I exclaimed, my voice sounding lofty.

"Well, there have been…"

"Speculations?"

"Exactly. Many people believe that Optimus Malfoy is…" she trailed off and looked around the room, and then lowered her voice as she leaned toward me. "They thinks Mr. Malfoy is an _assassin_!" she hissed. I gasped, and then she went on. Of course this was by no means the first time I had heard this rumour — it wasn't even the first time Edwina had told me — but Edwina loved to have a good audience, and I had more than enough practise in giving her the responses she wanted. "Well, you know Orion was in Slytherin with him all those years ago, and Orion says Mr. Malfoy was nothing short of a criminal. And, you know, he does go away so often, and he can never be tracked. He's obviously doing something horribly illegal. How else would he have made his money?" Then she sat back up, panting a little; Edwina really needed to take more breaths when she spoke.

"I think he is," I conceded. "I can just see him being an assassin. What other explanation is there, after all?"

"And who even knows what he'll be trying to do next… He might even — even try to _marry_ into one of the families, like the Blacks, or the Nigelluses, or even—"

"Or even the Weasleys!" I nearly shrieked as I burst into laughter. How we had gone from talking about assassins to this hilarious topic was positively beyond me; Edwina had a gift with conversation. Just the thought of a second-generation, newly-rich Malfoy — with some unknown but undoubtedly criminal profession — marrying into some of the oldest, proudest, and most powerful families was absolutely ridiculous. Especially my family, the Weasleys. I don't mean to be arrogant, but the Weasleys were, without a doubt, the richest, most powerful, and most respected of them all, since my father was the Minister for Magic, and set the standard for everyone's decorum.

I tossed my red hair a little and plainly declared, "Well, I would certainly never marry anyone like Optimus. He'll have to marry a Potter, or some other new family like that." I sat in front of my bureau.

"A Prewett, maybe," she agreed. Then she began fidgeting: she could never stand still for more than a moment. "Do you want me to tighten your stays?"

"Oh, of course. A little more tightly than usual, please, Edwina, or else my dress won't fit. Father ordered it too small… Anyway, about the Prewetts, I doubt they would allow him to marry one of their daughters," I commented, wincing a little as she began to pull harshly. My house-elf was far gentler. "The Prewetts have quite earned respect, you know. And marrying a Malfoy would put them back _years_ of work. No one from a self-respecting family would ever marry a Malfoy, that's certain."

We loved to talk about things like this. I found the subject absolutely fascinating; my whole life I had heard about money and wizarding aristocracy, and, I must admit, we both loved to be at the tip of the social pyramid.

Edwina changed the subject suddenly. "Well, I heard that Gentry Nigellus has decided to finally settle down."

"Oh, really? With whom?"

"Don't act so innocent!" my cousin giggled. "_Everyone_ can tell he's in love with you, after all."

I blushed faintly, not because I was embarrassed, but more because I knew I was expected to. "Edwina!" I scolded. "How can you say that! We only speak on occasion, after all." I tried to crane my head to look at her, but she gave another jerk on my stays, causing me to gasp. "Too tight," I choked.

"On occasion!" she exclaimed, ignoring everything I said except about Gentry. "All you ever do is talk to him. You're barely separable at balls and dinners and things like that."

"How ridiculous," I answered, and then faced her as she finished. "Do you want me to tighten yours?"

Edwina laughed. "How evasive you're being today!"

I rolled my eyes, again not disdaining myself to answer. "Do you want me to or not?" I asked, a little too sharply, already annoyed by the corset, not because it was too tight, but because it was cut high and forced the wearer to stand with their shoulders back, which was a very uncomfortable position to be in.

She grinned, presumably at my tone, and then grabbed the bedpost for support. I began to pull on the stays, working my way down her back.

"Why are you so quiet?" Edwina asked, squirming from standing still for so long.

"I was just wondering for a moment… what Optimus must think of us all. He probably loathes us."

Edwina shrugged, tossing her hair. I made a sound of disapproval at her movements, but then quickly finished. Then Edwina said, "Oh, why should we care, Lydia? You said it yourself — he doesn't deserve our respect." Edwina turned around, staring at me.

I looked confused for a moment, and I could feel my eyebrows furrowing. But slowly, slowly, I looked normal again, and I nodded sharply; I think I was trying to convince myself. "You're right!" I announced. "He _is_ a Malfoy, after all."

--

**Optimus**

I stared up at the looming Weasley mansion. My eyes narrowed and, with mild surprise, I realised I was having a much stronger reaction than I would have thought. I breathed deeply, once, twice. But my eyes found the edifice again and I couldn't help but analyse it. It was of a strange, pale stone — most likely limestone — with three floors. The windows were all open, and in most of the rooms I noticed delicate lace curtains. The front porch had two long staircases going up to it, only a few metres apart, as if one wouldn't be enough. The house had four columns. They were simple columns, only slightly more ornate than Doric style, but it seemed rather elaborate considering most houses at the time had flat columns that were connected to the walls. Directly above the porch was a balcony, a large one. There were two chimneys on the house, one at either side, and the roof was slate. The house was rather square, because that was the style of architecture, and yet it held a sense of power and beauty to it. Plus, it seemed to mock me; it made me think of my own home, and how ornate it was by comparison; it made me think that I should have made my house plainer, and that I had done something wrong.

It seemed like I was always doing something wrong. I had a great deal of money, which I had thought would be enough to get some semblance of respect. Granted, I hadn't made it honestly, but I certainly hadn't been conspicuous about it either. I had heard rumours about myself — that I was an assassin. This was ridiculous; I would never sink that low. Not that it mattered how I got the money anyway. The end always justified the means.

So, really, as far as money was concerned, I was fine. It was just that this ridiculous society wouldn't budge! For the life of me I couldn't figure out what the hell these people wanted from me.

I was endlessly polite; I was generous; I had a beautiful house; I was a gracious and conscientious host. Really, in all respects, I did everything right.

And yet…

I wondered. Was it my money? I had worked damn hard for that money, but maybe they thought of it in a different way. Perhaps the rumours of the illegal way they thought I had attained it had reached the ears of the upper class, unlike I had wanted to believe. Perhaps they all took the assassin rumour seriously; I could understand why they would hate me if they thought I was an assassin. But I didn't think that was it.

But still, I probably had nearly as much money as the Weasleys had accumulated over generations, but maybe they thought the way I used it was ostentatious.

Perhaps they even thought _I_ was ostentatious.

Not that I could see why, after all. There was nothing wrong with me. I had worked harder and accomplished more in ten years than all of these rich, "superior" people had done in their whole lives — maybe even in generations.

I had a lot to be proud of.

So why did they look down on me? It bothered me more than anything in the world. I was Optimus Malfoy, for God's sakes. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

They looked at me like I was scum, and every time they did I felt like taking their fancy little scarves and wringing their necks. What had I done? Nothing! All I had done was make something of myself, and I honestly couldn't see what was so wrong with that. Unless, of course, they had found out how I made my money, but I didn't see how they could have. It was all speculations, with absolutely no root in truth. I had only been a little immoral, honestly. It was nothing too terrible. I certainly hadn't been murdering anyone.

Why, just the other day I had tried to speak with a beautiful girl. Her name, I believed, from the one moment I had been able to speak with her, was Maria Flint. Absolutely beautiful. But, honestly, the girl spoke to me for one second, realised something (almost as if she realised she was making a grave social error), and quickly excused herself.

It was as though I was a plague! Why?

Sometimes I thought they might have something against me, not because they didn't know my career, but because my money was newer than theirs or something ridiculous like that. And, almost, I thought that might be it. It made sense, really it did. Why else would they refuse invitations to my parties and otherwise hate me? That's what they did—they absolutely abhorred me.

Suddenly I reached into my pocket and took out my watch. How long had I been standing there? Nearly a quarter-hour, I saw. It had been far too long. Without thinking a moment longer, I walked purposefully up one of the staircases and rapped on the door.

I did not care what they thought of my money. If they honestly thought I wasn't respectable company, then so be it. I would try again. I wanted to work in the Ministry. I knew if I could get Richard Weasley as one of my allies, then everything would fall into place. I would no longer be an outsider, no longer feel as though—

"Hello, sir," a maid said politely as she answered the door. At least she had some courtesy that the rest of this damn society was lacking. "Who are you looking to see?"

"I'm here to see Richard Weasley," I answered, hoping there was some semblance of superiority in my tone. "He's expecting me." I had talked to him for a few moments last week, requesting this meeting. He had agreed. It was strange to meet with him at his home, but this was the only time he had open; there was a great deal to do at the Ministry, and even I couldn't deny that he was terribly busy.

"Of course, sir. May I have your name so that I may announce you?"

"Optimus Malfoy," I told her. She walked swiftly down the hallway, and in what seemed like no more than a second she was back at my side.

"Please come in, sir. Mr. Weasley asks to see you in his study. May I take your hat?"

I handed the article to her carefully. She was just a young girl, and I didn't quite trust her with it. It were expensive—unbelievably so. Not that it really mattered. I could spend five times that much on every piece my clothing and not be spending too much.

With a sardonic lift of my eyebrow, I realised this was probably the type of girl these snobs of the society wanted me to marry. God forbid I court _their_ daughters, touch their perfection with my unworthy hands.

Nothing, I thought at the time, would please me more than to someday be the best. I wanted all of these ridiculous families to bow down to me, not the other way around. Someday I wanted the Malfoy name to be even more respectable than Black, Flint, Weasley, or any other name.

I deserved it. They did not. What had they done to deserve it? Nothing. Nothing at all.

I thought of this as I was escorted to something that appeared to be an office. There were books lining dark bookshelves, with strong carvings in them. The desk was ornate, but it, too, looked like it could withstand anything. I reached out to the volumes of books. Why did he need so many? Maybe, I thought, I should buy more books. And yet… what did it matter?

I stared at a portrait on the wall. It was of a young girl. She must have been about sixteen in the painting, with flaming red hair that clearly told me she was a Weasley just as my own pale hair showed clearly my Malfoy ancestry.

Her small hands were folded in her lap, and her silk gown was light green. She was smiling in the portrait, but every once in a while a strange look came over her face. I wondered why.

The door opened. "Ah, Optimus," Richard greeted me in his deep, rich voice.

"Mr. Weasley," I said, hoping my voice sounded just as proud and casual. "I hope you weren't too busy."

"Not at all, not at all. I was about to go into the Ministry — you were a little late — but it can wait. There haven't been any disasters of late… I see you found my daughter's portrait." Suddenly pride came into Richard's voice, and a fondness that I felt was genuine.

I nodded.

"Her name is Lydia. It's rare for a Weasley family to have a daughter. Why, I had no sisters, and no aunts. I believe, though, that Grandfather had a sister, who I also believe was deceased by the time I was born."

I didn't exactly understand why I should want to know all of that, but I was told, so I nodded. It was strange, I supposed, that there were never any girls in the family. Lydia was lovely, I noted, taking one last look at the portrait.

I shook my head quickly, attempting to clear my thoughts. Richard was seating himself behind his desk, and was gesturing that I should sit in the seat in front. I took it quickly, but, I hoped, I didn't look like I was rushing in order to please him.

"So, why did you come down to see me?" Richard asked, his voice turning business-like and sharp. "You didn't tell me last week."

"I would like to work in the Ministry," I began, deciding to jump right to the business at hand.

"You would? And why is that?"

"Well, because I feel it is important to be so close to the people of the country, Richard," I told him, wondering how genuine the lie could sound. "I have never felt that… closeness, and I would like to. Perhaps I have been lacking in that respect. I feel I could help. I'm intelligent, hard-working, and resourceful. I promise you would be pleased with my work. I know these are troubled times, and the relationship with the colonies is becoming strained, and I hoped you could use another man."

"That is true," Richard answered, "and I don't doubt that you would work hard. But where do you intend to work?"

"Wherever you feel I would be most useful."

Richard stood, quickly. He walked to the window, and stared out at his land. He opened his mouth a few times, but eventually gave up. Finally he answered, "I'll consider your request. Would you come back next week?"

I knew he didn't need to wait a week; the answer was already no. But I would return anyway, because perhaps a week was long enough for me to come up with another reason or another way. "Yes, Richard, of course."

Then I swept out of the office without saying another word.

Well, that went nothing short of terrible. I grabbed my coat and hat, hastily put them on, and stormed out the door. I needed that job, and I wondered how I could get it.

--

**Lydia**

"Go down and ask your father," Edwina told me. "See what Optimus wanted!"

I pretended to think this was a stupid order, but for once Edwina's idea didn't sound stupid to me.

I ran lightly down the stairs and opened the door to my father's study. "Was that Mr. Malfoy, Father?" I asked.

"Hello, Lydia," he greeted me. His expression softened, because I had always been his favourite child.

"Yes, it was."

"Does he honestly want to work at the Ministry?"

"Yes, he does."

"You're not going to let him, are you, Father?" I asked quickly.

"Of course I can't," Father answered, looking tired. "He's a Malfoy."

I softly placed a hand on his arm, wondering why he looked so hurt. "I understand. You can't trust him."

"He was admiring your portrait," he said suddenly, gesturing to the other side of the room. I looked back at it, and blushed faintly. My portrait always looked strange — stiff, maybe. I always wondered if I really looked like that — like I thought I was better than most people, or something.

"Was he? I can't imagine why. I've never liked it, myself."

"You're the only one who feels the way," Father laughed, the corners of his eyes wrinkling a little so that I knew it was a real smile. "Everyone else thinks it's a perfect likeness."

If that was a perfect likeness, then maybe I didn't like who I was.

But of course I did! I was happy — truly I was. After all, I enjoyed my life, and all that went with it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter the Second:

In which the Ministry decides upon a course of action.

--

--

**Richard**

I stood in my office with my back to the door. In a nervous gesture, I unconsciously clenched and unclenched my fist. I suddenly realised I was unwilling to do what I had to. It wasn't the first time I had felt that way — as a matter of fact, this feeling quite overwhelmed me on a regular basis. But the fact was that whenever this feeling came, it frightened me. It made me think that someday I might even shrink from my duty.

I heard a knock, and I turned slowly, wanting to prolong the wait for as long as possible. Finally I couldn't wait a moment longer, so I called, "Come in," in a voice that seemed unnaturally deep. But the person who walked in wasn't whom I expected. "Gentry," I greeted, relieved but slightly frustrated.

"I hope you weren't doing anything important, sir, because, well, you might have forgotten… You see, Minister, there's a meeting scheduled now, with Orion and your son and… the rest, of course. We've been waiting, and we don't mind, but…"

Gentry was a strange man. But that was irrelevant, so before I allowed myself to get deep in thought, I answered, "Yes, you're right. I did forget. Let us go." As we walked out, I told my assistant to reschedule the meeting with Optimus Malfoy.

"Of course, Mr. Minister!" he called after me.

Gentry and I walked swiftly to the conference room. "How many are here?" I asked.

"Only the most trusted, sir. Just me, Orion, Richard, and Alexander… and yourself, of course."

"And this meeting, if my memory doesn't fail me, is about the colonies."

"It was scheduled, Minister, as a preliminary meeting in order to decide what we felt best to do about the situation, before we discuss it with the entire department."

"Yes, now I recall. The British Muggle government has been unrelenting in their opinion, of course."

"Most definitely. But there have been times in history when the Ministry of Magic has taken a different side than the King, sir—"

"I'm aware. We'll discuss it at the meeting," I said as we approached the door. "Oh, and Gentry?" I asked, waiting for him to look at me. "We would love to have you over for dinner tonight…" I knew the invitation was nothing short of abrupt, but for some reason it felt necessary for me to extend it.

I watched in amusement as his face lit up. Gentry might have been a strange man, but one thing was certain about him: he was deeply in love with my daughter. He would be a good match for her. He was always serious, and she loved to talk. They would balance each other, I thought. I frequently encouraged the match; a union between the Weasleys and the Nigelluses would be favourable.

"Of course, Minister, sir. I would love to!"

"Good, I'm glad," I announced as I clapped him on the shoulder.

Then we walked in. I sat at the head of the long table, this time not nearly filled. I looked at my closest advisors, all in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Gentry took a seat to my left. For some reason I paused for an extended period, and just examined them.

Gentry Nigellus was extraordinarily tall and thin. He had tousled brown hair that he kept far shorter than the style. He recorded the meetings, and had a deep knowledge of what seemed like everything. He didn't exactly have an official title; he was something akin to a secretary.

Alexander Yaxley was on my other side. He was older than me, in his early sixties. He was wise, and I always wanted him around at important meetings like this because no one else had his insight. He was a short man, with a patch of white hair that was very thin. He was head of the department, and he most definitely deserved it.

Orion was Edwina's older brother — my nephew. He was a spy for us in the British Muggle government, in Parliament, making his information and opinions invaluable. It was remarkable how well he could hide that he had any magical ability whatsoever.

The last was my son, Richard. He frequently went to the colonies, also going undercover in the wizarding realms — getting their opinions on the situation. It was important to know with whom he sided as well.

"Well, there's no need for introductions," I said, finishing my scrutiny. "Orion, please begin."

"But, sir—" Gentry protested.

I groaned. "Fine. Hurry then."

"The date is 11 February, 1775. The time is seventeen—"

"Oh, can we not just dispense with the formalities?" I interrupted, rather rudely, due to unfortunate impatience on my part. "We know the date and time and all of that. Orion, please," I snapped, feeling a little short. Gentry sometimes grated on me like that.

A few strands of black hair fell from where it was tied back when Orion leaned forward. "The Muggles have declared, as of two days ago, that the colony of Massachusetts is in a rebellion. They are already planning an attack, I believe. You see, they have heard of a military arsenal in Concord of that colony. This is correct, isn't it, Richard?"

My son nodded gravely. "Yes, they are continuously stocking it. They can tell it shan't be long until warfare."

He paused, and stopped speaking. "Anything else, son, with the colonies?" I asked.

"Well, I reported last year of something called a Continental Congress. I believe they're planning another, in the event of an attack. They want to be prepared to defend themselves. The colonial magical community is behind them fully, Father. The British Parliament has been harming them as well. But they say they have nothing against the British Ministry, even as they urge you to side with the colonies."

"How deeply would we hurt our alliances with other foreign nations if we side with the colonies?" I asked Gentry.

"Sir, beyond repair!"

He was right — I knew it. I couldn't side with the colonies… No matter how much I wanted to.

"Yaxley? Any comments?"

"Sometimes," he said as he began his always-vague advice, "you can't follow the side you believe is right, because doing so would only cause them further harm."

"How much longer can we remain neutral?" I asked everyone.

They all agreed that we couldn't for very long.

"I figured that. Fine… Gentry, assemble that meeting sometime before the end of this month. At that time, we'll side with the British Parliament. Any objections?"

They all shook their heads. I knew my son would prefer not to side with Parliament, but he must have been able to understand diplomacy.

"Any other business?"

Again the answer was no.

"Then this meeting is over. You may leave. Orion, I would like a word before you do, however."

--

**Orion**

I watched as Richard waited carefully until everyone except the two of us were out of the room. "What is it that you would like, Richard?" He was my uncle, after all; I was encouraged to address him informally.

"You might have heard rumours about Optimus Malfoy."

"Asking for a job here? Yes, I think everyone has heard that," I answered, slightly uncomfortable with the subject.

"What is your opinion of him? You were in his House and his year, correct?"

"Yes, I was, but I was not a close friend of his. I do have an opinion of him, however, and I'll tell you what I know." I paused for a moment, not fully wanting to continue. Optimus was a difficult person to discuss — he was elusive — he was ingenious — he was more than likely a terrible man. He was the type of person anyone should find hard to understand; my own logical personality had always prevented me comprehending him, which was one of the many reasons I avoided him. "You must have heard, Richard, that everyone believes he is an assassin. I don't agree with them, because I honestly don't think that's his style. I have no doubt that he is doing something in his career that is illegal — or, at the least, immoral. From what I know of him, I cannot imagine him to be an assassin. But there must be a reason he won't tell how he has made his vast amount of money."

Richard was nodding and looking vaguely startled. "What about his personality?"

His personality was even harder to grasp, so I told him the only things I was sure of. "It was always easy to see just how much he wanted money. He was the type to say very little, but notice a great deal. Sometimes I could see in his face this sort of hatred for people like me — people who had money, but never worked for it. I assumed he wanted to be on the same level as other rich people." I could remember his face, and how it would look. It was pale, pointed, strangely aristocratic for one so poor. He seemed to be able to control his emotions well, but when he got angry, his face would twist, and his strange eyes seemed to threaten death; it was horrifying to see.

"Well, if he's made his money, why does he want a job here?"

"He must need it for something, Richard, but I don't know what that could be. Maybe he's realised he still doesn't fit in; he still isn't on that level that he used to want."

Richard was looking grim. "You would never hire him, would you?"

"Richard, it would be nothing short of a disaster," I answered truthfully, wincing a little at the thought. Nothing could stop Optimus Malfoy if he had an important job like this, and the thought of Optimus without any restraints was unpleasant, to say the least.

--

**Ernest**

Lydia and I decided to take a walk that evening.

"So, I heard Father is going to side with the British," I commented, hoping my voice sounded casual.

"Well, I don't know if it's completely decided, but he's having a meeting about it today. Richard told me." My sister looked bored.

"What do you think about the war?"

"Oh, I don't know. Whatever Father decides will be right, won't it? Father always knows what to do," she answered, her voice confident. Even if she were Father's favourite — everyone knew it, after all — you'd think she might have an opinion different from his every once in a while.

"Don't you ever think Father could be wrong? That just because the British Muggles are against the colonies, that we, as the magical community, could side differently?"

"Oh, Ernest, what's it matter? You know Father said that, no matter which way he sides, he'll still take a minimal role in the war because he thinks it's pointless."

"_Pointless?_" I gasped, finally losing the indifferent facade. "How is this war remotely pointless? It's anything but pointless!… A — a battle for freedom is the least pointless reason there is, Lydia!"

She just rolled her eyes.

I changed the subject slightly. "I think Will is going to fight."

"Oh, how ridiculous! I don't think he would ever leave the Ministry, even for a moment. Except when he's with Richard in the colonies… Where are you going to work there?"

I blinked, confused, at the abrupt change in subject. "At the Ministry? Haven't I told you I'm not going to work at the Ministry?" I snapped at her.

"Oh, Ernest, you say a lot of things you know you don't really mean. Father, Richard, and Will all work at the Ministry. Father told you just the other day that as soon as you choose which department that you would—"

"I don't _want_ to work there, Lydia."

"Well, what are you going to do, then? Father—"

I gave up. She would never understand that I couldn't work there, or _why_ I couldn't . We were twins, after all, so shouldn't we have a deep bond or something? But instead she never knew anything about me. She and Edwina acted far more like twins than the two of us. So I just said, "You're right, Lydia. Where would you work if you were me?"

"Oh, I don't know… You're so strange that it would be hard to choose."

Our conversation lapsed for a while, and I was glad. We turned back to go home, when Lydia asked abruptly, "Do you think I'm conceited?"

"Why?" I asked, startled by the strangeness of the question.

"Sometimes I feel like I am."

I laughed. "Lydia, I wouldn't worry about it. I don't think so."

She grinned, and her mood was noticeably better.

"You're strange, Lydia."

"Oh, Ernest, I think the entire Weasley family is."

"Did you hear Father is inviting Gentry over for dinner tonight?"

"Oh, really? That's nice," she said, still smiling, but she was not quite as happy as I thought the news would make her. I thought she was in love with Gentry Nigellus. He'd been courting her since we had left of Hogwarts over a year ago.

"Lydia, I thought you'd be more excited."

"Ernest, I know I'm going to marry Gentry, but he isn't exactly the type of person to get excited about, is he?"

"Aren't you in love with him?"

"Oh, of course I am! How could I not be? He's a wonderful man."

But I just kept looking at her, confused. Because her voice was too dull, and I felt like she was trying to convince herself of her feelings, not just me.

Oh well. Lydia was the least of my worries now. I had to find out about Father and what he was doing about the colonies.

--

**Gentry**

I always enjoyed going to the Weasley mansion. It always seemed so welcoming and inviting. Part of it was because of the Minister, so I was glad the maid sent me into his study when I entered.

"Gentry, how are you?" the Minister asked in his loud, booming voice. He jumped off his chair and strode over to me.

"Oh, fine, sir, just—"

"Gentry, how often have I told you to not call me 'sir' or 'Minister' when you're at my house? Call me Richard."

"Thank you, sir — I — I mean, Richard," I stammered. It was strange calling my boss by his first name, and I think I was blushing in embarrassment. I turned away.

"Looking at the portrait?" he asked me.

"Oh! Er, yes— yes I am," I answered, now examining the painting of Lydia. She was absolutely beautiful, and the portrait was a perfect likeness. I often didn't understand how I had managed to court Lydia before anyone else. She was absolutely perfect, and soft, and kind, and I knew I wasn't her only admirer. But she had chosen me, for some reason.

"We'll have to get a portrait painted for you, when the two of you get married," Richard commented.

"Oh, sir," I breathed, turning back to him, and forgetting I was supposed to use his given name, "has she mentioned anything about marriage?"

He laughed. "I gave you permission to ask her _months_ ago, didn't I? Maybe you should get around to it."

"But, Richard, sir, how am I supposed to know if she'll say yes? Perhaps she doesn't — doesn't want to — and says no…"

"Why do you think she would keep you around all this time if she didn't want to marry you? She's a smart girl, our Lydia, and she wouldn't lead you on."

"Th — thank you, sir," I said breathlessly. "Maybe I will ask her… soon…"

"Better sooner than later. Girls like to get married young. I married my wife when she was seventeen."

I wanted to smile, but didn't, of course, because the mention of Richard's deceased wife deserved to be met with solemnity. May Weasley had died when Lydia and Ernest were born… It was rather unusual for witches to die in childbirth, but it happened occasionally, regardless.

I was about to comment when I heard another voice. "_There_ you two are! I've been looking everywhere for you! It's time to eat."

Richard stared at his daughter fondly, and then left, apparently wanting to leave us alone for a moment.

"Oh, Gentry," she laughed as she came up to me, taking my arm with another giggle. "How are you? When Father told me you were coming over tonight, I realised I didn't even have a new set of dress robes to wear or anything—"

"You — you look beautiful, Lydia. You always do," I attempted to compliment, flushing a little.

She giggled again. "You always say such sweet things. Well, we better get to the table, or who knows what my brothers will think we're doing in here. And with five men in the house, well, you can never be too—"

"Five?" I interrupted.

"Oh, did Father not mention Orion is here too? And of course Edwina as well. That's just like Father, isn't it — to not mention it like that? You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not!" I insisted, and I almost meant it. Edwina just talked so much, that sometimes it was nicer with only the Weasleys…

"What are you thinking, Gentry?"

"We — we really should be going to eat, now, Lydia, don't you think?"

"Always practical, aren't you?" she giggled, her bell-like laugh ringing out.

So the two of us walked to the dining room. I couldn't help but smile and think that I wouldn't mind her always holding onto my arm like this — I would love to have her at my side for years.

What I needed was a ring.

--

**Lydia**

I didn't quite understand what was so terrible about me maybe exaggerating my feelings when I was in Gentry's presence. Ernest continually shot puzzled at me like I was insane or something.

I knew Gentry was going to propose sometime, and I knew I would say yes, so what was the problem? It wasn't as though I was leading him on and would refuse to marry him.

Gentry would be a safe husband. He would be there for me, protect me, make money, and talk to me like I knew something. Some men didn't do that, but Gentry did. I knew I wasn't the smartest person in the world, but I was no idiot.

Maybe I wasn't as in love with him as I could be, but just because it wasn't some passionate love that only existed in books didn't mean it wasn't real! Just because I wasn't about to climb on a mountain and scream that I was in love with him didn't mean that I wasn't. How could I not love Gentry?

What's more, Gentry was in love with me. I could tell he loved me more than I loved him. But it's better for the man to be more deeply in love than the woman, after all. (Someone told me that… Who was it?) Was it so wrong to like feeling loved? The other men who came to call only cared about how I looked; they didn't care for me like Gentry.

I don't care what any of them say. I'm going to marry him, and I'm going to be happy. I'll have children and be like my mother — well, not like my mother, since I never really knew my mother — but like Edwina's mother. I want to throw balls and have servants and look after my own house. I didn't see what was so wrong with that.

What else was there?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter the Third:

In which many sparks occur.

--

--

**Richard II**

I Apparated immediately.

I had just heard that a Muggle named Patrick Henry was making a speech in Richmond to the House of Burgesses. It was supposed to be one of importance, a speech that could change the course of the war, incite a rebellion. It was a speech I had to attend.

As soon as I was near the church where it was being held, I quickly pulled my Invisibility Cloak over my head and went inside. I was just in time, because Henry was preparing himself for his speech.

Hastily, I set a piece of parchment on the ground — still covered by the Cloak — and perched a special quill on top of it; it would record every word.

His voice was hypnotic when he began to speak, and it was very passionate as well. He made every one of us feel as though he was correct, and whatever previous opinions we had were wrong, as simple as that.

"No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the house… This is no time for ceremony. The question before the house is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate… Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offence, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings."

He was using such powerful words… He was speaking of treason and slavery — things these people could relate to — things I could relate to.

"Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the numbers of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, to know the worst, and to provide for it.

"I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received?…"

We sat, enthralled, by his powerful words as he proceeded to tell us all the reasons why the British were definitely preparing to attack colonies. Soon the speech was over, and more debate ensued, but I had to think about it; I was British, and I was supporting that side, and yet this speech made me want to join them, join America, so I couldn't help but wonder just how much more powerful this speech would be to the colonists.

I knew I had to get back to the Ministry immediately, because this speech was a spark, and soon it would blaze into a fire.

--

**Optimus**

A month.

That is how long I had to wait for that insufferable Richard Weasley to disdain himself to finally speak to me.

I don't care if everyone says he's by far the greatest Minister this country has seen in decades. I honestly could not care less that people think he's wonderful and that we should all love him.

All I know is that it wasn't until the end of March — nearly _two months_ since I saw him that first time — that I had my meeting with him.

Honestly, did it take him two months to figure out how to say, "Sorry, Optimus Malfoy, but no. You cannot have this job. Go die"? Because I knew he couldn't be giving me any sort of good news about this job that I needed to have. How else was I going to gain respect?

Oh, yes, I heard that there have been troubled times for the Ministry because of the war with the colonies. Apparently it's getting some bad press because people think Richard should have sided with the colonies. Supposedly only 75 percent of the people think he's doing a good job instead of the 125 percent there used to be.

Seems a bit dramatic to me. All I really want is a job.

So there I was, sitting just outside of his office, waiting for him to allow me in. Well, I had waited two months. A few more minutes was bloody obnoxious, but not completely unbearable.

Finally, that door opened. It had taken an obscenely long time, but open it did.

"Optimus, come in," Richard told me, his voice annoyingly friendly. "I'm terribly sorry for the wait. I was having lunch with my daughter."

And from behind him came Lydia Weasley, standing demurely in a cream-coloured silk dress and a small bunch of flowers in her curled hair. She barely came up to her father's shoulder, but I supposed that was also due to the fact that Richard was incredibly tall — almost as tall as I.

As I was about to stop examining her, a breathless man came to a sudden halt at my side and grasped my shoulder for support. I took a step to the side, not wanting him to touch me: it was disturbing.

"Sir…" he panted.

"What is it, Gentry?" Richard asked.

Ah, this is was Gentry Nigellus, whom I had heard was courting Richard's daughter.

He was finally catching his breath. I wondered how far he had run. "I have just heard, Minister, sir… that there was a rebellious speech given yesterday in Virginia — in the House of Burgesses, of all places. Your son just came to tell us. He heard it, sir. Some chap named Henry — something Henry — gave it. Very riotous, sir. I've assembled everyone in the conference room, since I thought you would want a meeting right away. Your son is waiting — he recorded the speech."

Oh, of course! Now my meeting would be moved even further back, and I would probably be dead of old age before Richard could get around to seeing me.

"Of course, Gentry. Wait one moment and I'll walk with you," he said calmly. Then he gestured to me and we walked a short distance away. "I'm sorry, Optimus," Richard told me, looking truly apologetic. I'm sure it was fake. "This is an emergency. You could wait a while, and I'll send someone to you if I think it will take longer than an hour so we can reschedule. Again."

"Yes, Minister," I told him, trying to not sound as angry as I felt.

"You can sit in my office if you like. I trust that you won't do anything you aren't supposed to." His last sentence sounded more like a question, as if he most certainly didn't trust me. "Lydia, you may stay with him if you like." They stared at each other wordlessly for a few moments, strange looks passing over their faces. It seemed to be a sort of silent exchange, one that I was wholly unfamiliar with.

"Yes, of course, Father," Lydia answered, her voice soft.

So Gentry and Richard went off to another area of the Ministry, while Lydia stood staring away from me, as if not wanting to make eye contact.

This was Lydia Weasley — I would finally get to meet her. I had no doubt that she would find me revolting and common, and even though I had only just met her, I could tell there was something unusual about her — something rather intriguing…

--

**Richard**

I sat down at the head of the table, realising how long it had been since we had such a meeting. All the ones of late had been merely formalities; the meetings were necessary because of the imminent war, but there had rarely been anything of consequence to report. It had been a silent month and a half, one that seemed to lure me into a false sense of security — and it had. Now there was a speech.

"Richard," I asked my son, "they say you've heard the speech?"

"Yes, Father. It was yesterday," he answered, and began passing around copies. "I was in the House of Burgesses — using the Invisibility Cloak you gave me — since I had heard speak that this man, Patrick Henry, was giving a speech in order to incite a war." Richard's face was serious, intense, and yet there was also an excitement to it; as a young man, it seemed he was intoxicated by the thought of war as so many others were. "And I did hear him, clearly. I have the transcript of the speech, and you should read it, but let me say now he appealed to not only their reason, but their beliefs and emotions as well. It was a compelling speech, one that would make even the most staunch British supporter in the colonies doubt themselves, perhaps permanently. The last line was especially powerful: 'Give me liberty or give me death.'

"Father, now it is only a matter of time before war. I doubt even one month will pass. I hope we are prepared, because it will be soon."

Then there were many minutes of silence, as all of us began reading with rapt concentration. My eyes stopped in particular at one segment.

_Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation?… Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation…_

I breathed deeply. This speech made me feel terrible; it brought forward all of the beliefs I tried so hard to curb.

I wanted to colonies to gain their freedom — they deserved it — they would fight for it.

I wanted to help, but I could not. There were certain things I had to do — there were some things that were expected of me, and this was most assuredly one of them. At some point one's own ideals had to be set aside because society demanded a level of decorum that had to be followed, and my support of the colonies was not in that level; it was as simple as that.

In truth, I ran nothing. I was merely the voice of society, and that voice had been established ages ago, and was now simply followed.

Maybe that was why I wanted the colonies to win. There wasn't that threat, that chain, that held the people back. There was freedom — endless freedom — if they weren't bound the way I was.

This was a cage.

--

**Lydia**

I stared at my father as he and Gentry strode down the hallway. The loss of two of my most trusted companions did nothing but make me nervous. There was something about the thought of being in the same room as an assumed assassin — or at least criminal — that made me not only uneasy but — how I hate to admit it! — the smallest bit excited. All my life I had been sheltered — I was my father's little girl, his favourite child. I had been protected and pampered since I could remember, and I never really had cause to worry. I was used to that feeling of safety, but the thought of being different, maybe a little scared — even for a minute — was… interesting.

All of a sudden I felt a pair of eyes on me and I was instantly staring into murky blue-grey eyes. They were gazing at me strangely, and I felt myself blush. It was an intense stare, and he seemed to see through me.

A gentleman would never stare that way.

But of course I didn't say anything of the kind. Instead I turned from him coldly.

"Won't you come into your father's office with me? I believe he instructed you to watch me and make sure I don't steal anything, or, perhaps… kill anyone…" His voice was heavy with amusement.

"You know about that?" I gasped.

He swept open the door, holding it insolently for me while raising a sardonic brow that clearly answered by question.

I titled my chin up and walked stiffly into the room. He was, after all, not the companion for me or anyone of proper standards.

"I've heard of the rumours about me. But it seems that of late most of those rumours have purely dealt with my apparent assassination ring."

"You never do anything to prevent the gossip."

"Why should I? I have to admit I find it highly amusing," he answered, a half-smile coming across his face for a moment.

I was scandalised. How dare he say such things? Didn't he know anything about society and how it functioned?

"Amusing," I sniffed. "You find people thinking you murder for a career entertaining?"

"Do you think I'm capable of murder?"

"Yes," I answered automatically, and the instant I said it I knew I was telling the truth. My heart began beating erratically, and I began to look anywhere but him.

We were sitting on a sofa at the far end of my father's private office. We sat on opposite sides, but the intensity of our conversation caused us to lean towards each other, and the second I realised it, I gave a small gasp and leaned as far away from him as possible, almost to the extent of falling off my side. Optimus noticed and an almost imperceptible grin passed over his face. I promptly turned away.

"I have heard rumour about you as well, Miss Weasley."

"Have you?" I asked primly.

"You and the wonderful Gentry Nigellus are to be wed?" His tone was so obnoxious — it was superior, mocking.

"Mr. Nigellus" —I had to call Gentry that in company— "has yet to propose, though he may have obtained Father's permission already."

"Do you expect the question to come soon?" I believed he was asking me such prying questions just to embarrass me.

"It's every woman's dream to marry a man like Mr. Nigellus, so yes, I do expect it," I answered properly.

"You intend to agree?"

I felt as though I were being interrogated. I squirmed a little uncomfortably, and a ghost of a grin passed over his face as if he were getting some vulgar enjoyment out of the situation.

"I'm not leading him on."

"You're in love with him?

I forced myself to blush delicately — the occasion certainly warranted it — and didn't answer.

"He doesn't seem like the man for you."

"And how exactly would you know that?" I bristled.

--

**Yaxley**

"Did he speak well?" the Minister asked his son.

"Yes — very. His voice was haunting."

"The war will be soon," he stated, but the Minister seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone else. "And then I'll…"

"Richard Weasley," I began, my voice hoarse, "I would like to speak with you alone, please."

He looked at me, confused, but I had known him his entire life, and he wouldn't refuse. The rest of them were sent out into the hallway to wait.

"I know you, Richard, and I know you don't want to." I was an old man, the head of the department, but I had become more of a figurehead. In a time of war like this the Minister was in charge, even though I had the title. I didn't mind giving anything to him, because I knew he was smart and quick, and wouldn't do anything wrong if he could help it. But he used to be a sensitive boy, and I doubted all of that could go away quickly.

"Don't want to do what?" he asked.

"I know you want to side for the colonies, but you must understand that you cannot."

He buried his face in his hands, showing a sign of weakness that so rarely came for him.

"There are things you have to do when you're the Minister. You can't let your feelings get in the way."

I stared at him, and he looked to the side. "I know," he answered. "But it doesn't seem right."

"That's because it isn't," I answered. I looked at him. "You haven't lost," I said in reply to his unasked question. "Now, these people are going to notice that your heart isn't in this soon, and they'll lose faith. You can't let that happen."

"Yes, you're correct as always, Alexander. Why didn't you ever become the Minister?"

"Because I never wanted to sacrifice the things I believe in most, the way you are."

A flash of anger came into his eyes for a moment; I knew he wasn't used to people speaking to him in such a blunt way. But I just stared at him, unwavering.

"You agree with me, don't you? About the colonies?"

"What does it matter?" I answered.

He nodded — he understood.

--

**Optimus**

How would I know what type of man she would like? Because, in the few moments I had spoken to her, she had given away many clues.

"You're practically squirming, you seem to force yourself to make the proper responses — don't worry, the casual observer would be fooled, and you're making a man think you're in love with him for whatever reason when you don't seem to be."

Her mouth snapped open in horror. "Mr. Malfoy, I don't think you have any right to say such things about me — how presumptuous! I _am_ in love with Gentry and I don't force myself to act like a lady. I _am_ a lady, Mr. Malfoy. And you are certainly no authority on proper responses in society." Her face was completely red, and she was breathing harshly in anger.

"I assume you were a Gryffindor, Miss Weasley?"

"I was," she snapped.

I nodded — it was as I suspected. She looked offended by my nod and expression, and I again suppressed a smile.

"I might not be accepted into this society of yours," I said calmly, "but I do know you have them all fooled into thinking you care — and maybe you've even convinced yourself. But you, Miss Weasley, are no more a lady than I am an assassin."

She gasped and made a few incoherent noises, her face bright red as she jumped up while her hands balled into fists at her sides. Her hazel eyes seemed to snap too as she glared down at me.

I grabbed her fists and pulled her down beside me. "Miss Weasley, whether or not you know the truth is entirely up to you. I am merely a messenger."

"I know myself better than you do, thanks," she answered, finally regaining her voice, and then she turned away. I felt a grin cross my face for a second. Lydia Weasley was an entirely entertaining creature. As I stared at her, I couldn't help but be reminded of something else. "Your portrait was very good. It looks exactly like you."

"It looks nothing like me," she answered delicately, but with a glare that could kill.

"It's a perfect likeness," I argued, again amused by her.

"No, it's not," she snapped, losing her propriety once more. "It looks nothing like me. It's — it's — it's stiff, arrogant, and that isn't me.

"Indeed?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow. This girl was most certainly arrogant and stiff, among other things.

"Are you implying I am?"

"I'm not implying anything… I'm _telling_ you that if you don't think you look like your portrait, then you don't see yourself the way you really are."

"You are a terrible man!" she exclaimed, jumping in front of me looking like murdering me would give her the greatest pleasure. "How _dare_ you say such things, you improper, disgusting, common, dirty _cad_!"

She went to sit across the room, her back straight. She was breathing as deeply as she could in her corset, and her face nearly matched her hair, both standing out brightly against her cream-coloured dress.

We remained in silence as the minutes went by. I wanted to speak again — making her angry was endlessly enjoyable — but I didn't think it would be prudent when her father might be approaching.

I was surprised to hear her speak to me instead.

--

**Gamp**

I stood waiting outside the room where Richard Weasley was concluding his meeting. I watched as the others filed quietly out, and I slipped inside when I knew it was just the Minister.

"Sir," I said, my voice shaking a little. "Is there any way I could perhaps speak to you for a moment?"

He pulled out a pocket-watch and stared at the time. "I'm supposed to be meeting with someone. Will this be short?"

"Yes, of course, Minister." I saw his look of impatience and an angry feeling welled up inside me. I wasn't high up in the Ministry yet, but you would think he would show some respect, since I planned to marry his niece, Edwina.

He waited for a moment and then prompted a little sharply, "Well, speak."

"I think you should hire Optimus Malfoy to work in this department," I stated firmly and without hesitation, a calm look coming over my face.

His eyes grew large, a strange look of surprise coming over his face.

"It's not for the reasons you think, sir. Will you let me give the reason?" He nodded. I stood up and walked to the window, too cowardly to look at Richard when I spoke. "We don't know what Optimus did to make his money, but we do know he travelled all over the world for it. We know he probably did illegal things to get it, and he knows shady sorts of people."

"You aren't making the best case for him," Richard stated, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I thought of Optimus, and why I was doing this. There wasn't a reason, really. I just knew that I had to, and that the Ministry needed him. Richard Weasley wasn't a Slytherin, so I doubted he could understand why it was necessary. "This is a time of war, Minister, and I think the Ministry could use someone like him. He could get inside information, help us navigate the world. He's been everywhere and knows everyone. I know that honour is important, but… no one else could lend as much support and be as useful as he. Minister, if he really wants this he won't do anything against the Ministry, and I believe he really does want it. I think he can be trusted, even if he isn't… of society's standards."

I turned around and saw that Richard's face was free of any expression. I wondered what that meant, but I knew I had been too bold already.

"Thank you for listening, sir," I said as I walked out.

--

**Lydia**

I saw there, boiling mad. He was one of the most terrible men I had ever met. Edwina certainly had been right about him.

"You know he's not going to give you a job," I told Optimus maliciously.

An instant of something like surprise or amusement crossed his face. "I'm aware," he answered, his voice icy. It was a welcome change from the smug and superior tone he had been using before.

"No one would ever hire you, _Mr._ Malfoy. You think not telling anyone how you made your money really makes them think better of you? Well, they don't. They all think you're terrible. Society isn't easy to get into. It takes more than a vast amount of money." I just kept talking; it was wonderful to finally say what I felt. All my life I had given the appropriate responses, and said what I should feel instead of what I actually did. But with this man I could be myself — not even myself, but the very worst version of myself. And I loved it. "It takes _time_. You can't become a member of society in a generation or even three, and if you honestly think that, well, you're even more ignorant than I thought. Even if you would tell where your money comes from, it would hardly matter. Your money is new, so you're still lower-class. The only thing that might help you is marrying a woman of high society, but no one would marry a man like you, of course. So just face it, nothing is going to help you win this war against society. Because you'll lose every time."

I knew my father told me to stay with him, but there was nothing that could make me sit there a moment longer. I nearly ran to the door.

"Miss Weasley, just one moment," he called.

I didn't want to stop, but for some reason I did, just for a moment, not looking at him.

"Someday you'll want to join in the war too."

I had no idea what that meant, but I didn't care, because all that mattered was getting out the door.

I gasped as I nearly ran right into Gentry.

"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry," he gasped as he steadied me.

"It's fine. Where's Father?"

"George Gamp is speaking with him."

I stood there staring at him, and Optimus's words popped into my mind: _"You're making a man think you're in love with him for whatever reason, when you don't seem to be."_

"Can I talk to you, please? Privately?" I whispered.

"Yes, of course," he answered, looking at me lovingly. Then he led me to his office, which was smaller than my father's, but still nice. "What is it, Lydia?"

"Gentry, I love you," I said. I wished Optimus was there to see it, because even he couldn't have expected it. Young ladies weren't supposed to admit their love before the man did, but I didn't care, not right now. Right now I wanted a ring on my finger and the knowledge that there would be a wedding.

His eyebrows shot up and his face paled. "Oh, my dear, I — I love you too — so much, and — and — may I please ask you something?"

I smiled, happy about my defiance. I would prove to that wretched Malfoy that I was in love with Gentry, that I wasn't just acting. I was a firm member of society, and nothing would make me happier than marrying him.

"Of course, Gentry."

He knelt and took one of my hands. "My dear, won't you _please_ marry me?"

I grinned. "Oh, yes, Gentry, I will."

A smile of pure joy came over his face, and for a single second I felt a deep sense of guilt because it almost seemed like the only reason I wanted to marry him was because of Optimus Malfoy. Then the feeling went away, and I smiled as he slipped the ring on my finger. I kissed him lightly, which seemed to make him drunk with happiness. "We can go tell Father now," I said. He agreed, because he always agreed with me.

We caught Father just as he was opening the door to his office. Optimus was right inside, but Father turned to talk to us first, leaving the door wide open for Optimus to almost be part of the conversation as well — but I didn't mind. I wanted him to hear it.

"Father, Gentry and I are getting married!" I squealed, and for a second my eyes flicked over to see Optimus's expression, and I saw him smirking at me. I was startled — I had thought the engagement would make him think I was in love with Gentry, but instead it seemed like he thought it was only proof that I was trying to fool him. But I forcefully shoved any thoughts about him from my mind as my father hugged me and shook Gentry's hand. "Congratulations, you two. You'll have a wonderful marriage."

"Thank you so much, Father," I whispered.

My eyes flickered again to Optimus's, and his head was tilted a little to the side, as if asking me a question. I wrapped my arms firmly around Gentry's, and tilted my chin up. As I did, though, I couldn't help but see another flash of knowledge pass over his face.

--

**Ernest**

I nearly ran into my brother the second he was through the door. "They say you heard it!" I gasped, looking at him with envy. "They even say you wrote it down!"

"What are you talking about, little brother?" he chuckled, and I tried not to cringe as he called me that. "I've never seen you so excited about anything."

"_Patrick Henry's speech!"_ I snapped.

He handed me a sheet of paper, laughing some more. "I don't know why you care this much, Ernest. I didn't think you cared about anything."

I sent him a glare before I ran up to my room and sat at my desk. I began to read.

_We must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us! They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength but irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us… There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable — and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come._

_It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, "Peace, Peace!" — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!_

"Give me liberty or give me death," I repeated in a reverent whisper, a gleam coming into my eyes. I stood up and walked to my window, and opened it a little.

I said loudly into the wind, "Give me liberty or give me death!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter the Fourth

In which many decisions are made.

**Optimus**

Richard's usually serious eyes seemed to glow as he left his daughter and her fiancé. "Wonderful news, is it not, Optimus?"

"Of course, sir," I answered gravely, my eyes flickering to the door that had just been shut upon the seemingly happy couple.

"The Nigelluses and the Weasleys have not always been on the best terms, you know. My father and Gentry's grandfather were often at odds with each other. This union is a wonderful way to repair the damage. Sometimes feuds are impossible to mend."

_I'm aware,_ I thought briefly, but then my attention changed. I looked at his stiff and surprisingly confused face. Why in the world was he making such casual conversation? It didn't seem natural coming from the always-businesslike Richard Weasley.

"Well, congratulations," I replied, deciding to go along with his charade for the time being. "I'm sure Lydia could have any man she wants; Gentry must be lucky."

"Yes, he is. He's been chasing after her since she got out of Hogwarts more than a year ago." He began to chuckle, but it sounded off somehow — probably because he was still avoiding what we were supposed to be talking about. "Gentry was a friend of Richard — my son, in case you didn't know — at Hogwarts… Well, he was in a different House, but they knew each other, at any rate. Were you at Hogwarts with them?"

"No, I was gone by the time they began, I believe. They are — what? — twenty-four? I'm thirty-one."

Richard nodded, and perhaps inwardly he was calculating the fact that I was a mere eighteen years younger than he was. He shook his head abruptly as if to clear his thoughts, and his brown eyes focused on me. "Anyway, I know you didn't come here to listen to stories about Lydia and Gentry."

"No, sir, but it was interesting nonetheless."

"When you came here," he began, and his tone and dull-looking eyes alerted me that he was being nothing short of completely honest. Unconsciously, I leaned forward, wondering why he looked as though he were having some sort of painful internal battle. "I had every intention of telling you that you could not have this job, but…"

_But…?_ There was hesitation? When did this happen? My hand gripped my wand so harshly that once I became aware of the fact, I was surprised it hadn't snapped.

"But, Optimus, I've just spoken to someone who made me think that perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you should be seriously considered for a job in the Department of International Magical Cooperation after all."

I felt my face pale, and a small surge of hope flickered through me until I forced the emotion away; hope was volatile, and I didn't want it to do any damage.

"Thank you, sir," I answered, my words sounding strange even to myself. They sounded breathless and begging, more suited to Gentry than me.

Could it be possible? Could, after all that happened, Richard seriously be thinking of giving me a job?

Imagine if I got it — then I would have everything. I would have respect, the name, a chance at a wife—

I wouldn't think that way. I wanted a wife, certainly, but that would take longer, because first I had to somehow convince the families I was respectable.

"Perhaps I could ask you a couple questions before you leave? Then I would need to meet with the head of the department — Alexander Yaxley, maybe you know him? — to discuss it."

He perched his quill on the top of some parchment, and with a flicker of his wand it stood on its own, ready to record my every word. The Weasleys loved to use this little trick, or so I had heard. I thought about that for a moment longer than I should have, because it seemed rather uncharacteristic of the family. Or maybe it wasn't — perhaps it was part of who they actually were, instead of the facade. The trick was intimidating — even for me, and I rarely found anything intimidating. There was something about the knowledge that every word would be recorded perfectly — every slip of tongue, every subtly sarcastic comment. It could be read again and again, scrutinised until every single syllable had a chance to be taken to mean something rude or something that would somehow endanger the miniscule chance I had.

"Of course, Minister. Ask me anything you need." I watched in a grim fascination as the quill skittered across the page, writing exactly what I had said with no embellishments.

Richard gave a perfunctory glance to make sure it was working, and then leaned towards me, as if this were more serious than I had realised.

"I've seen your grades at Hogwarts."

I nodded. My grades had been perfect.

"You teachers seemed to like you."

I had a lot of charm — it came natural to most Slytherins, especially Malfoys.

"But afterward… Well, it is certainly more… hazy." His dark brown eyes stared at me seriously — with a sort of dead calm.

I stiffened, my posture completely formal as he stared expectantly. My mind raced — I needed to think of an appropriate excuse, but what could I say? Not the truth, but perhaps a variation of it?

"I should like to know your career," Richard prompted, looking frustrated that I wasn't saying anything.

I quickly tried to regain control of myself. It wouldn't do me any good to show hesitation; he could never know I wasn't telling the full truth.

"I… traded," I answered. _Smuggled, more like._ "I worked on my own, so I'm afraid I can't give you any names of my employers." That part was completely true.

"What did you trade?" he questioned, his eyes narrowing. I didn't need Legilimency to understand that he didn't believe me.

"All sorts of potions." _All of them illegal,_ I added inwardly. "I made some of the potions" — _and poisons_ — "myself. I also traded magical animals and… other tradable substances." _Even more illegal things, Minister. Everything illegal, and most of them incredibly dark objects._

"And trading was that profitable?" His eyes flickered over my elegant clothes and I knew he was probably thinking of my ornate, incredibly expensive home. For once I wished I hadn't tried to gain a place in society with that damn house.

"When you are willing to trade with people who do not normally receive such attention, you can create your own asking price."

He nodded, though I knew that he aware I was leaving something out of my story — he was surprisingly perceptive.

"Why haven't you told anyone? Why do you avoid the subject?"

"It's none of their business," I snapped, the words flowing from my lips before I could stop them. He gave me a disapproving stare.

"But you've told me?"

"You may — I dare to hope — be my future employer."

He nodded again, but still looked very displeased. "You may leave now. I'll send an owl to have another meeting."

I grasped his hand, and he seemed to have a strange desire to break all the bones in mine. "I hope you did nothing to offend Lydia during you conversation," he told me in a low, strangely menacing voice.

I couldn't think of how to reply, but I managed to say, "Of course not."

I closed the door firmly behind me and leaned against it for a moment, feeling oddly weak.

Richard Weasley could be surprisingly intimidating.

---

**Gentry**

I smiled silently as Edwina squealed and clutched at Lydia's left hand, drawing it over to her so she could see the engagement ring. It had a delicate silver band with a large diamond surrounded by smaller ones.

I had my arm slung over Lydia's shoulders, and I couldn't help but think that this was surely contentment. I was engaged to the most wonderful, most beautiful girl there had surely ever been. And she was, without a doubt, just as happy.

"Oh, how lovely!" Edwina gasped. "So beautiful, Lydia!"

For once Edwina failed to annoy me; I doubted anything could have bothered me at such a moment.

I grinned widely as Lydia smiled softly and nodded. "Yes, it is."

My eyes flickered from her hand to her face, to see if something was wrong. But there was a normal smile in place, so I just shrugged the feeling off. Of course there was nothing wrong with her; her life was just as perfect as mine at that moment. Then there was a trail of her three brothers into the parlour just before I could make up my mind to say anything to her.

First came Ernest, a smile plastered on his face. His eyes looked wild; his normal aloofness was shockingly absent.

Will was, as always, standing between his two brothers; there was some never-ending feud between Richard and Ernest, something I didn't know the cause of.

Though of course I wondered, like everyone else.

Which put Richard last in line. I couldn't help but again examine the difference in appearance between the three men.

Ernest was even taller than the Minister was, and his face was less masculine, more innocent. His hair was bright orange, the very same colour as Richard's, but it looked far more ridiculous. It wasn't tied back, and wasn't even as long as most had it — though mine was even shorter. His stuck up in strange places, giving the appearance that he had just woken up or something similar.

Will's hair was the colour of copper, and the consistency seemed around the same, too; his curls were unruly and usually mildly amusing as well. He was nearly as tall as Ernest, but his jaw was square. It was strange that Will looked the most threatening of the three, for he was the kindest of them.

Richard was less tall than the others, and he was most stocky. His hair — so dark red it was nearly brown — was pulled back meticulously. He looked the most presentable, as though he were spending the day in the office instead of with his family.

Lydia's hair was different from the rest; it was the colour of flames and it curled beautifully nearly all the way down her back. She always wore flowers or jewelled clips in it; all women envied her hair. She was by far the best-looking in the family. Besides her beautiful hair, her skin was completely pale, the colour of cream. Her eyes were depthless hazel, and her eyelashes framed them beautifully. There was something so delicate about her features — her small nose that was only slightly up-turned, her pink cheeks, her soft lips, her high cheekbones. Something was completely aristocratic about her that all the other Weasleys lacked; I could imagine her on a throne rather than just as a member of society. I had seen a portrait of Lydia's mother, May, and Lydia's features looked very similar, except that Lydia looked far more… alive.

"Father just told us, Lydia," Will said in his deep, soothing voice. "Gentry finally decided to propose, did he?"

I smiled from where I was sitting, but didn't comment.

"He did," she answered, her voice soft and lilting as always. She took my hand in a very sweet gesture. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Richard and Will grinned widely and went to embrace her, but Ernest stood by the door, his eyes still far too excited. I wondered why he looked so much different than usual. I watched as he stared at his sister, and I wondered if he were seeing, like I had for one moment, that something didn't quite look right about her.

But that must have been because she was more excited than usual. Or more happy. Or a thousand other explanations that would do well to explain why she looked a little strange. Because of course she must have been as happy as I was. There was nothing more wonderful than the knowledge that she would soon be my wife.

---

**Richard**

The room looked infinitely happy when I walked in; the stress from changing my mind about Optimus instantly faded away as I stared at my family, especially my lovely daughter and her fiancé. It reminded me of myself and May all those years ago.

Just like May and me…

My smile froze in place at the thought — myself and May… we really were _just like_ Lydia and Gentry.

Was I missing something?

I stared carefully at the celebration. Gentry was sitting next to Lydia, a stupid grin on his face. Ernest was sitting at Lydia's feet, for once giving off the appearance that they were actually twins; he looked unusual, but not so much to disturb the scene. Will was standing behind the sofa, as always lending a strong but unobtrusive feeling to the picture. Richard was next to Gentry not, I was sure, because they were friends, but because Richard wanted to be as far away from Ernest as he could without it looking conspicuous. Edwina was grinning as she sat in an uncharacteristically natural pose at Lydia's side. All of them looked like the picture of contentment.

Then there was Lydia. There was something about her face that I recognised, but I knew instinctively that I didn't recognise it from her own expressions. It was almost as though she were unsure about something. It looked like… I had all those years ago with May. I had been unsure at the time. I wondered if she felt the same about Gentry that I came to feel for May after our marriage.

Was she making the same mistake I had?

I remembered how it had started, and how quickly it had developed.

---

At the time I was twenty-three years old and getting my start in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. I mainly researched other cultures; I knew what the traditions were, what actions were considered insulting, and could speak many foreign languages. I worked long hours with every intention of impressing Yaxley, who had been the head of the department all those years ago as well. His second-in-command, Dorian Rosier, was the first, though, to sense my ambition, my intelligence, my bold desire to rise quickly to the top.

This is important, not only because this was the beginning of the descent that led me to become the Minister for Magic, but also because this was how I met my future wife, May Rosier.

She was seventeen and on her Christmas break from her final year at Hogwarts. She was not the normal definition of beautiful, even though she looked classically elegant. Her features were soft, almost to the extent of fading into nondescript plainness. The only thing that made her stand apart was her endless poise, the stiff and formal way she held herself. Such a pose seemed to scream that she was someone important, someone who was worth speaking to, no matter what the rest of her appearance hinted.

There was no whisper of colour in her pallor, not even a single freckle. It was obvious that she was much more thin than the style, but it seemed to suit her, as if any second she might disappear into the background without anyone noticing any difference.

But there was something impossibly attractive about her nonetheless. Perhaps it was how breakable and dainty she looked. Or maybe it was how absolutely aristocratic she was. Maybe it was the soft smile she gave to her father, her white teeth giving very little contrast to her white skin and pale pink lips. Perhaps it was her hair that stuck out startlingly from her paleness; it was a rich brown with the faintest hint of red where the light hit it. It was the only part of her that brought her to life.

"Richard," Dorian Rosier greeted as he saw me. I tore my gaze away from his daughter to meet his eyes.

"Good morning, sir," I responded, inwardly wincing as always at calling anyone such a title.

"Richard Weasley, this my daughter, May."

Her pale, clear-blue eyes now returned my stare, and she allowed me to kiss her white hand.

"Hello, Miss Rosier."

"May," she corrected, her voice a lovely high pitch, but she spoke so softly it was barely above a whisper. If I hadn't been paying attention, I might have thought it was the wind.

I married her six months later.

---

At first the marriage had gone well, I thought. I could see nothing wrong with being married to her. Actually, I was very happy. She was perfect and undeniably lovely, and she was a very well-respected member of society. She did everything right, and in truth she had been one of the most beloved.

Soon it wasn't enough.

I don't think I ever had a real conversation with her. She never even considered that she had a mind and that she could be intelligent. She seemed to float weightlessly on, never truly caring about things that books held. I tried to draw her in to become a part of my world, but eventually she seemed to take her place merely on the outskirts, always fitting as discreetly as a shadow. She never really felt like my wife; she was more of a mere companion, less than a wife, slightly more than a friend.

She gave me two children at first, and that was another thing she did perfectly well. Our children were well cared for, and she was a wonderful mother to them. Richard, my first-born, was especially attached to her.

It was a sad event when she died in childbirth with Ernest, but it, in truth, hardly altered my daily life. The pleasant shadow was gone, and nothing really needed to take its place. There was no hole, only a lack.

In short, I never loved my wife. She was pleasant and beautiful, but there was no passion. There was nothing a romance should have been. And that was one thing in my life I have always missed.

I hoped Lydia didn't feel that way about Gentry. I didn't want her to only have a shadow — I wanted her to have a real love. She deserved something solid.

---

**Yaxley**

"Richard Weasley, usually you're so prompt. Have over two weeks truly passed since you agreed to give Optimus Malfoy a chance? And you're only just calling upon me to ask my opinion?"

"Er, yes," he answered, looking more like the boy he had been when I hired him than the Minister he had become. His eyes flickered nervously to the door, and he seemed to move a step towards it once he realised it was open.

I sighed and waved my wand at it, shutting it immediately. One thing I always knew about Richard was that when he was especially nervous, he seemed to forget the use of magic. No doubt he would be a terribly liability in a battle.

He sank into the chair across from my desk, and again I could see the arrogant boy in his early twenties demanding a job, saying he was the smartest and would be the best. He flaunted his fluent knowledge of four other languages, and his partial understanding of many others. I accepted him, because I knew — even better than he did — that he would be great.

It seemed that act of kindness on my part led him here, to regretting every moment that responsibilities like this were on his shoulders. I felt for the boy; he didn't deserve such things.

If I hadn't given him the job, he wouldn't be staring at me with dead eyes.

"So would you like my opinion in the matter?"

"He would work in your department, you know," he began, his eyes somewhat glassy. "I was told by George Gamp that he would be beneficial to us because of his infinite knowledge of everyone important in other countries—"

"Richard, I know the reasons. Gamp spoke to me as well. That's how I knew you'd be coming."

"That does make sense," he said, looking as though he wanted to be angry but was suffering too much.

"I know you want to ask me if I would hire him if I were in your place," I said, my voice cracking as I spoke louder. Richard nodded. "I would." His eyes changed the moment I said it; the dead look was instantly gone, and again I could see the boy. It was a relief, and I continued. "This is a time of war, of course, and we need someone like him — no one else that I've hired has ever been unscrupulous. Which most of the time is not a good thing, but now? Now I believe it is. Also, you know he wants this job, do you not?"

"I do."

"You know he would never do anything to jepordise it?"

"Yes."

"Then what's stopping you from telling him yes right now?"

The dead look came back, and I knew I had reminded him.

"Society," I answered for him.

That was the reason I never became Minister. I knew I would have to deal with society, and that was something I truly didn't care about. I had my stance, and people liked me, but the Yaxleys had always been known for being a bit off.

I decided to tell him exactly what was true, and exactly what someone like him would never realise without being directly told.

"Richard, son, you've never asked society for any favours, have you? You married the right person, didn't remarry when she died, and had four children who everyone loves and respects. You've done a hell of a job as Minister, no matter what a few radicals think at the moment. No one could have done as well as you, and in a few months or years, they'll see it. But the point is that whatever you do, people follow. If you want to hire Optimus Malfoy, at first people will think you're crazy, but I promise they would never turn their back on you. If you stand behind him completely, so will they. Trust me."

"You believe that?" he questioned, the light coming back into his eyes.

"Yes, I do. And you will too if you think about it."

He nodded and got up to leave. I could see in his face the instant before he turned around that he had made up his mind.

He would hire Optimus Malfoy.

---

**Richard II**

I felt myself shaken awake from my mid-afternoon nap. "Mr. Richard," the maid said, her voice louder than usual. "You must wake up! The Minister said it's urgent that you come in right away…"

I yawned and tried to focus my eyes. "Did he? What's happened?"

"The war started."

My heart seemed to stop as I shot up. "Did he say anything else?"

"They'll need you in America right away, sir. He said to get a trunk and come to the Ministry for information."

I groped for my wand and found it on the table next to the sofa. I quickly flicked it at the curtains to let the light stream in, and then I Summoned my trunk from upstairs; it had been packed for weeks in preparation for the imminent war. I made it trail in front of me as I went to the entryway to get my coat before I Apparated to the Ministry. As I was about to turn, I felt a hand on my arm, and it prevented me from completing the motion.

I looked towards the cause, and to my disgust saw my youngest brother, his stupid orange hair even more tousled than usual, as if he had just woken up as well.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you idiot child? You could have splinched me!"

"Did I just hear Emily say the war started?"

"What do you care? You don't care about anything ever," I said maliciously, staring at the excited look in his eyes. He usually looked so bored and unconcerned. The change was mildly disconcerting.

"Just tell me!"

"Why?"

"Why not?" he nearly begged, his face desperate.

Instead of making me feel terrible for being so mean, it gave me a sort of sick pleasure. He was suffering the way I had all—

I wouldn't let those thoughts interrupt me. Not again. It wasn't worth it.

He must have noticed I wasn't going to tell him anything, because his eyes grew wide and he said, "Richard, you could be gone by now — just _tell me_!"

Instead I just wrenched my arm from his and Apparated. I wasn't giving him anything he wanted. Not after what he did to me.

---

**Richard**

I stared around the room as everyone gathered. I looked from face to face, knowing everyone, but not truly caring. I wondered if my face were revealing how this was impacting me. I wondered if my eyes looked dead or if they were too excited. But for once I didn't care.

"Gentry, tell them what happened," I said in a low voice, knowing that I would only scare people if I were the one to tell the story.

He stood up, looking more confident than he ever had before. He had no trouble speaking when facts were involved.

"Yesterday, April 18th, of course, Thomas Gage — _General_ Gage — sent troops to destroy the supplies stored at Concord, plus two rebel leaders: Samuel Adams and John Hancock, I believe. Somehow they were intercepted along the way in Lexington — this is all taking place in Massachusetts, of course — by these Minutemen — highly untrained but enthusiastic, of course. This happened at dawn for them, so a bit before noon for us. The first shots were fired — unfortunately, no one knows by whom — and the outnumbered colonists lost, leaving our Muggle troops to go onto Concord. As for our last report, they were moving to Concord, but we know no more than this. Minister, sir, do you have anything to add, sir?"

Well, I couldn't put off speaking anymore.

"Richard, we'll need you to go to the colonies immediately. Take anyone if you feel you need it. I know it's a tradition that wizards go to war at the same time as Muggles, but I need it to be clear that we're giving no more than emotional support. No shots will be fired by British wizards unless they plan to join the Muggle army. This will remain a time of peace. Can you tell them this? We want their alliance."

"Of course, Father. Shall I leave now?"

"Yes, at once," I confirmed.

Grasping his trunk firmly, he Apparated to the nearest place where he could Floo to the colonies.

"I'm afraid there isn't much else to be done at the moment. Gentry, dispatch whomever you see fit to spread the word around this country that we will not be directly involved. I want no war, and that must be understood. I will not stand for a few drunken teenagers who decide to kill American wizards because they feel like it. If they want to join the war, they sure as hell better pretend to be Muggles. Can you do that? Enact a death sentence if necessary."

"O-o-of course, Mr. Minister, sir."

He, too, left.

"As for the rest of us, I'm sorry but we must wait until we hear of what happens at Concord before we decide upon anything else. Of course, there is no doubt that this is the beginning of the war we knew would come."

I sat down heavily in my chair as they filed out. Then I forced myself to my feet and returned to my own desk, because of course this happened to be the day that I was hiring Optimus Malfoy.

Everything always seemed to happen at once.

---

**Ernest**

As soon as my father left the conference room, I pulled my invisibility cloak from over my head and stood up, grinning madly.

Then the smile faded. The war was starting, like I had always wanted. And yet… what was there to do now? Leave everyone? Stay at home and hate myself?

Did I really have a choice?

Did I dare to hurt my family?

I began to walk out of the Ministry, confused, and when I neared the entrance I almost collided with Optimus Malfoy. He had been something like a myth to me; I had never seen him but of course I knew everything about him. That was the reason an uneasy feeling gripped me, and coupled with the knowledge of the outbreak of war, I'm sure I looked especially anxious.

"Sorry," I said, knowing I only sounded distant, far from sincere.

He didn't say anything, but merely looked at me with a curiosity that made me even more uncomfortable.

"What?" I snapped, feeling far less patient than usual.

"You need to speak to someone," he answered.

It was my turn to stare as his words sunk in. "You want me to talk to _you_?"

"I'll listen, won't I?" he said, and his grey eyes bored into me; somehow I already felt as though he knew everything about me.

"Where?" I asked, agreeing — this statement was a surprise even to myself, but I had no desire to take my words back. For some reason it seemed like a Malfoy would be the only one who could truly understand.

He lead me to a conference room of some sort, and I was struck with the knowledge that he knew the Ministry very well. I had heard my father was going to hire him, and for a moment, instead of disgust at my father's decision, I felt pride.

"Speak, Weasley," he offered, his voice sharp, but for some reason I didn't feel as though he really minded listening.

"Ernest," I corrected, and then began telling my story rapidly, as if I had limited time to tell him. "The war just started, and I can't begin to tell you — all my life I've wanted to be in America. It always seemed like the most wonderful place, and then there were rumours of a war, and now it's finally happened. I've waited so long — hoped and dreamed — that now I feel like I have to do _something_…"

"What something are you thinking?" he questioned, perhaps perceiving something in my story I hadn't intentionally said.

"I think… but I can't…" I mumbled, trailing off and feeling my face turn crimson.

"Why can't you fight?" he asked.

My head jerked up. How did he know? Oh, why did it matter? "My family… society… this country. I can't imagine what Father would do if I left. I think he would hate me."

"Why?"

"For leaving, of course."

"You really think he would be ashamed if you left to fight for what you believe in? For what you would do anything in the world for?"

"When you put it that way…"

"Wouldn't he understand?"

I shrugged. "Maybe," I admitted.

"Look, Ernest, I've only talked to you father a couple times, but every time I've been struck with the knowledge that there was something he regretted. Don't you ever get that feeling?"

I was surprised he had sensed that. It had taken me years to fully realise that unnamed and so often hidden emotion my father carried with him was regret. "Yes, I have noticed," I answered.

"Do you think he would want you to feel the same way all your life? Or would he want you to not make the same mistake he did — whatever it is?"

"You make everything so simple," I muttered, a bit annoyed.

"Maybe you're just making everything too complicated."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, the seconds passing by without meaning. He sat there, moving very little. I eventually came to stop thinking of him as I processed everything that had happened.

But the answer was so clear. I had to leave. I would hate myself if I didn't — that I knew for certain.

Optimus seemed to notice when my face changed to absolute certainty, and a half-smile crossed over his face for an instant; it looked like pride. "I won't tell them you've left. I assume you'll leave a note?"

"Of course," I answered, because the second he said it I knew it was the only option. I felt myself grinning, and I think I even chuckled a little. It was what I had always wanted…

"Not to interrupt your celebration," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "but may I ask you a question?"

For an instant I tensed, thinking that this was probably the reason he wanted to talk to me in the first place. But did it really matter, in the end? After he had just helped me so much?

"Yes."

"Why did your sister choose Gentry Nigellus?" he asked without any opening. I was startled by the directness of it for a moment, considering I would have assumed that he would be more subtle about asking his question. But of course I wasn't a threat to him anymore; I would be gone, and he knew I would never tell anyone of this conversation. I decided to answer fully, equally without reserve.

"I have a theory, though of course Lydia doesn't speak to anyone about this," I began. "When we got out of Hogwarts, about a year ago, there was a storm of men at our door, begging for her hand. They came daily; she had her pick out of anyone. They all wanted her. I suppose it's because she's considered very beautiful — I wouldn't know, obviously — and… because she's so well respected. She's a very high member of society, being the only living woman of the Weasley family. Plus she's very kind and nice to be around in general. But out of all of them, she chose Gentry. I believe it was because he was the safest of them all. He loves her deeply, more than himself or even — if you can believe it — this Ministry. I don't think it was a coincidence that she chose her most adoring caller. I don't think she wanted _him_ as much as she wanted the feeling. I've actually thought of this quite a lot, because I don't think she's happy. I don't think she's in love with him. I think we're more alike than I ever considered until recently. We both want things beyond this world that we've grown up in, no matter how amazing it seems on the surface. I want America, and she… well, I don't know what Lydia wants, in all honesty. But I hope she gets it."

No change of expression came over his face, but in his murky eyes I thought I saw a glint that hadn't been there before.

We departed soon after that. He went to meet with my father, and I went home to write a few letters and pack for my own future.

We were both having crucial things happen to us, and I hoped it worked out for the best.

That night, I left the mansion that had been my home for eighteen years. I left it without reserve and with a feeling of freedom I knew I would never go back on, no matter how the war turned out.


End file.
